


Note to Self: Don't Die

by the_misfortune_teller



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Future Fic, M/M, WIP, post 3b
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_misfortune_teller/pseuds/the_misfortune_teller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>How the fuck has this become his life? This was supposed to be his first great summer home from college. Where he’d get to reunite with all his friends since they scattered across the country. Where he might get the chance to finally hook up with Derek. And now it’s all gone to shit. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So originally I uploaded this a while back and then took it down again because I dunno, I'm a temperamental bitch like that and the last few episodes of season 3b really knocked me for six. But now feels like a good time to re-upload this. 
> 
> It's not canon compliant (obviously); Allison never dies in this 'verse and Malia Tate straight up never happens - I'd started writing this before Eichen House even aired and don't feel like changing a whole bunch of stuff to reflect that.

Derek's a really good kisser.

That's the one thought that keeps bouncing around Stiles’ brain.

Like, really good. He's got weak knees, goose bumps, the whole shebang. It’d be kind of nice if Derek would actually do something else with his hands though, other than just holding loosely onto his hips, but Stiles is happy to take what he can get.

"No," Derek mutters suddenly as he pulls away and actually _wipes his mouth_ with the back of his hand, like kissing Stiles has left a bad taste in his mouth. "No. I can't do this. Not with you."

"Seems like you could thirty seconds ago," Stiles replies crossly, reaching out to grab at the front of Derek's shirt and trying to pull him close again. Derek swats him away and takes a step back, his arms folded defensively across his chest as he glares at Stiles.

"OK. You're going to have to explain this to me," Stiles grouses as he rubs at the back of his hand which still kind of stings from where Derek slapped him away. "You didn't like me pulling on your hair? Is that the problem? We can - I can, like not pull your hair if that's an issue for you."

"What? That's not the problem," Derek huffs as he unfolds his arms and shoves one hand through his hair, like he's trying to pretend Stiles wasn't just messing it up a few minutes ago. "I can't - I don't want to do this with you. Sorry."

"But -" Stiles starts, taking a step towards Derek and making a grab for his shirt again. "But I thought - I just -" he drops his hand when he spots the hard expression on Derek's face and stares down at the floor, blinking fiercely to try and stop the tears that are threatening to fall. "I really like you."

Derek makes a strangled little noise at that and Stiles takes the opportunity to sneak a glance at him; his expression has softened a little and there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but even as he watches, it's gone again as Derek carefully schools his expression into something altogether unreadable. To Stiles embarrassment, Derek catches him watching him and he looks away again, keeping his gaze fixed on the asphalt.

"I'm sorry," Derek says again. "Everything that's happened between us? It's all just been too much. I can't do this."

"I thought you liked me too," Stiles hears himself say, cringing at how needy and desperate he sounds.

"I do like you," Derek says softly, and oh, it turns out that's worse than Derek saying he can't do this. "I like you, but that doesn't change anything.”

“What things?” Stiles demands, feeling suddenly angry. “What exactly is it that you think is so bad?”

“It’s everything, Stiles,” Derek replies shortly. “Everything that happened. You tried to kill me.”

“Yeah, when I was busy being possessed by a fucking vengeful spirit,” Stiles snaps. “It’s not like I just up and decided one day that I was going to try and kill you. You’ve done shit to me too.”

“Exactly,” Derek says with a relieved sigh, like he thinks Stiles is agreeing with him.

“I’m not – don’t fucking exactly me,” Stiles hisses. “I’m not agreeing with you. If I can get over all the shit you’ve done to me, why can’t you do the same?”

Derek scowls at him for a moment before turning on his heel and stalking away across the dark parking lot, leaving Stiles standing alone while he tries to avoid the stares of curious passersby. The last thing he wants to do right now is go back into the bar to face his friends, who’d all been shooting him knowing looks as he and Derek had slunk out of the building just twenty minutes before. What he really wants to do is go home and pretend that none of this ever happened, but he didn’t bring his Jeep tonight because he’d wanted to try out his fake ID at home and have a few drinks and is stuck waiting for a ride from Kira unless he wants to make the forty five minute walk home.

Fighting down the urge to flip off the woman who’s openly pointing at him and talking to her friend as they both puff on cigarettes, he heads across the parking lot to where Kira’s car is parked up and sits down, leaning back against the front tire to wait for her and Scott.

He’s been back in Beacon Hills for less than seventy two hours, and already things have gone to shit.

**~ ~ ~  
**

“Stiles?”

He looks up on hearing his name to see Scott and Kira standing over him, matching expressions of concern on their faces.

“You OK man?” Scott asks, crouching down and putting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “Last we knew, you were heading out with Derek and –” There’s a complicated eyebrow wiggle that says everything Scott doesn’t seem to be able to say about what Stiles and Derek might have been doing.

“Yeah, well that ain’t happening,” Stiles replies angrily as he lets Scott pull him to his feet. “Apparently where Derek’s concerned, I’m damaged goods.”

“Derek doesn’t think you’re damaged,” Kira assures him as she gently pushes them both out of the way so she can unlock her car. “Trust me.”

“Easy for you to say,” Stiles grouses as he climbs into the back seat and stretches out along the length of it, his feet pressed up against the window. “You’re the only person he’ll actually talk to.”

“He talks to you all the time,” Scott reminds him.

“What did he actually say?” Kira asks, shushing Scott with a wave of her hand. “Did he actually say ‘oh Stiles, I can’t kiss you because I think you’re damaged goods’?”

“No, he didn’t say those exact words,” Stiles huffs. “But it was heavily implied. I don’t get it. One minute everything was fine and we were kissing and it was great and then next, I’m too fucked up and he’s walking away from me like the pissy child he is.”

“Want me to talk to him?”

“No!” Stiles barks, pulling a face when Scott frowns at him. “No, I really don’t. I don’t want anything to do with him ever again. He’s a fucking dick.”

“He’s not a dick,” Kira argues, because she’s somehow physically incapable of seeing the bad in anyone.

“Whatever. Just let me get through this summer without having to look at his stupid face ever again and then I can go back up to school and pretend he doesn’t exist anymore and it’ll all be fine.”

“But –”

“Drop it,” Stiles snaps before Kira can say anything else. “We’re not talking about Derek Hale ever again. As far as I’m concerned, we don’t know Derek Hale. Derek Hale is a douchey figment of all our imaginations. A dickheaded shared hallucination.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Scott and Kira share a pitying look and scowls up at the car’s headliner as he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and deletes Derek’s number from his contacts.

Step one of Operation forget-all-about-that-dickhead complete.


	2. Chapter 2

The following steps of Operation forget-all-about-that-dickhead, or Operation Falcon, as Stiles has dubbed it in his head on the basis that that sounds way cooler, do not go smoothly. Because apparently _that dickhead_ feels like he needs to insert himself into Stiles’ social life at every turn.

“Why is he here again?” Stiles demands as they pull up outside Lydia’s house and he spots Derek’s stupid new penis metaphor of a car. Why does he keep buying new cars anyway? No normal person goes through so many cars in such a short space of time. And this new one, as much as it pains Stiles to admit it, is beautiful. Penis metaphor, but beautiful.

“Because he’s our friend?” Scott suggests, rolling his eyes when Stiles parks up directly behind Derek’s car and blocks him in. “And no one else has a problem with him besides you. You know, if you block him in like that, he won’t be able to leave.”

“Shut up. I’m just saying, you guys all know what happened. You should be supportive of me and like, not invite him places where I’m going to be.”

“Well you’ll have to get over it, because he’s here. And so is Cora, just so you know. So you can either sit in your car and pout, or you can come in and pretend you’re an adult and say hi to your friend who you haven’t seen for over a year.”

Stiles waits until Scott gets out of the car to give him the finger, which doesn’t go a long way to making him feel any better. It’s not like he’s asking anyone to choose sides and be all Team Stiles or Team Derek, but it would be nice if his friends could occasionally acknowledge that Derek was a complete dick to him that night at the bar and behave accordingly.

“I’m not talking to him,” Stiles yells after Scott as he heads towards the garden gate. Scott pointedly ignores him. This is going to a long afternoon.

**~ ~ ~**

Cora jumps on him as soon as she sees him, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. He tries, and may slightly fail, to keep the smug look off his face when Derek looks over in their direction and instead returns Cora’s hug before stepping back to look at her.

“New York clearly agrees with you,” He grins, because it does. She doesn’t look like the same girl that did a midnight flit with Derek all those long months ago. She looks hot. Hotter. The little silver nose ring is definitely doing things for him. Plus there’s also the added bonus of getting to see Derek keep pulling a bitchface like he’s currently pulling because Stiles has the audacity to flirt with his little sister.

Except that plan sort of falls flat on it’s face, because apparently Kira’s determined to engage in her favorite past time; bonding with Hales and she’s already made a bee line for Cora, dragging her away to talk about New York and whatever else it is that floats Kira’s boat. Who owns the wackiest pair of leggings, probably, Stiles thinks as he flops down on one of the empty pool loungers, half heartedly listening to Lydia and Danny gossiping about Ethan, which, eww. Sometimes, Stiles thinks that he’s the only one that doesn’t miss the twins, doesn’t care that Aiden died, hasn’t forgotten what they did to Boyd that time, or what they or their former pack did to Erica. Even Derek seemed to have forgiven them towards the end. Which now Stiles thinks about it, makes Derek refusing to forgive him for things he did while he was _fucking possessed_ even more assholish.

He glances up when he hears Kira’s unmistakable giggle floating across the garden; she at least seems to be having the time of her life, sitting with Derek and Cora and talking about god only knows what. Whatever it is she’s talking about though, doesn’t seem to be holding Derek’s interest because he’s staring directly at Stiles. And, presumably because he’s a jerk, he doesn’t have the decency to look away when Stiles catches his eye. Like he’s got some right to look at Stiles despite everything he said the other night outside the bar.

“Can I go get a drink?” Stiles asks Lydia, not caring that he’s interrupted her conversation with Danny. She frowns at him for a moment before nodding in the direction of the house and telling him that there’s beers in the utility room sink.

**~ ~ ~**

There were indeed beers in the sink, lots of lovely tasty beers. The supply of which he, Danny and Allison may have made a serious dent in. He’s nicely buzzed now, and no longer cares that Derek keeps sending these _looks_ in his direction. Let him. Stiles intends to spend the rest of his afternoon getting his drink on and maybe flirting with Danny a little bit more, because why the hell not. They’re both single people. There’s no harm in it. Nope, none whatsoever.

Except Danny doesn’t seem to be on board with that plan and has gone back to talking to Lydia about, ugh, Jackson of all people.

Looking around for someone to talk to or something to do, he spots Cora standing right next to the pool edge and hurriedly finishes his beer and bounding over to where she’s standing.

“Don’t you fucking –” Cora manages to get out before he pushes her towards the water. Only, he hadn’t counted on Cora being as quick as she is and ends up crashing into the pool with her when she grabs hold of his arm. She dunks him a few times, laughing when he surfaces, spluttering, before she’s darting out of his reach and heading for the edge of the pool.

Apparently the only people amused by his antics are himself and Cora, and Lydia fixes him with an absolute death glare as he hauls himself out of the pool and drags his sodden shirt off over his head. His doesn’t much appreciate death glares and turns away from them all, on a mission to go and find something else to drink in the house.

“You can keep flirting with me,” Cora says as she sneaks up behind him as he’s poking around in Lydia’s gigantic refrigerator, looking for the rest of the beer. “That’s fine with me. I’m bored and my boyfriend is still back in New York, but tell me one thing. Are you flirting with me because you just want to flirt with me or because it’s the quickest way to get to Derek?”

“Can it be a little bit of both?” Stiles asks with a grin, swiping a beer and turning round to face her.

“No,” Cora replies with a shake of her head. “I have no idea what’s going on between you two, but I’m not going help you hurt my brother.”

“It’s not hurting him,” Stiles assures her as he twists the cap off the bottles and takes a swig of beer. “Because he’s not interested. Go out there and ask him if you don’t believe me.”

“God, you’re even stupider than I remember.”

He watches with disinterest as Cora spins on her heel and stalks back towards the garden, her small feet leaving wet prints on the tile. He’s not stupid. Derek’s stupid. Derek’s whole face is stupid. Fuck, Derek’s whole _everything_ is stupid.

He downs the rest his beer and sets the empty bottle down by the sink before yanking open the refrigerator and grabbing another two bottles. If his so called friends are going to expect him to socialize with Derek, they can at least respect his right to get shit face drunk and ignore the asshole instead.

~ ~ ~ **  
**

The world is actually ending. The world is ending and the sky is falling in and someone’s beating him over the head with a sledgehammer.

“Get up.”

Stiles groans loudly and pulls the comforter further over his head, curling in on himself in self pity. He’s fairly certain something has crawled into his mouth and died.

“I said get up.”

And then his precious comforter cocoon is cruelly hauled away from him and Lydia is standing over him, an unimpressed expression on her face as he blinks stupidly up at her.

“What are you doing here and why are you punishing me?”

“You’re in my guest room,” Lydia tells him as she bundles up the covers and dumps them on the window seat. “Because you got trashed last night and passed out in the middle of the lawn. Now get up. I have to meet Cora in thirty minutes and you’re not staying here.”

No amount of pitiful moaning will change Lydia’s mind, and she prods and pokes rudely at him until he staggers out of the house and down the long driveway, which at least means he doesn’t have to listen to her stupid little dog yapping any more. His shirt stinks of chlorine so he doesn’t bother putting it back on, but wedges it into the back pocket of his shorts instead.

“Where’s my Jeep?”

“Isaac drove it back,” She tells him as she unlocks her car and glares at him over the roof until he climbs into the passenger seat. “On account of you getting –”

“Trashed. Yeah, heard you the first time.”

“You do know what ‘quiet get together’ means, don’t you?” Lydia asks as she snaps on the radio and turns the volume up to just the wrong side of comfortable. Stiles isn’t brave enough to reach over and turn it down. He values the use of his fingers.

“ _Yes_.”

“Really? Because my definition of it doesn’t involve people getting bombed and passing out and vomiting in the flower beds.”

“Ugh. I puked?”

“No, Danny did, but that’s beside the point entirely. You really need to get over this ridiculous Derek _thing_.”

“Yeah, because it’s just that easy,” Stiles huffs and turns away from her, resting his chin in his hand and glaring out of the window.

Lydia speeds even worse than he does, and they’re pulling up outside his house in a little over ten minutes.

“My life was so much easier when I was crushing on you,” Stiles sighs as he toys with the door handle. “Why can’t I go back to that?”

“Of course it was easier,” Lydia replies, drumming her nails on top of the steering wheel. “There was no chance of reciprocation.”

“Oh, ouch,” Stiles laughs. “And hey, I seem to remember you kissing me at least once.”

“And I seem to remember that you were having a panic attack at the time. It was the easiest way to snap you out of it.”

“That’s what all the girls say.”

“I’m just saying, it’s different with Derek. There are actually mutual feelings there and that scares both of you.”

“No,” Stiles huffs. “There were feelings, on my end, which are now thoroughly dead and buried, thank you very much. And Derek, as we all know, is incapable of human emotion. Probably on account of him not technically being human.”

“Stop being stupid. You know he likes you.”

“No, he really doesn’t. And I’m not talking about him anymore. That’s like, breaking the first rule of Operation Falcon.”

“You know, you don’t actually have to name all your plans,” Lydia tells him as she leans across him and opens the door. “And you certainly don’t have to name them all after birds.”

Stiles pulls a face and climbs out of the car. “And not all my plans are named after birds,” He tells Lydia as he slams the door shut. “That last plan was Operation Velociraptor.”

Lydia lowers the passenger side window and shoots him a withering look. “And you know what they evolved into? Birds.”

“Tell Cora her brother sucks!” He yells as she speeds away from the curb before heading towards the house.

If he’s lucky, his dad will already have left for work and he won’t get another lecture on responsible drinking and how he might be nineteen now, but he can still be grounded, college be damned.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


	3. Chapter 3

He might actually hate Scott. Scott, who’s been his best friend since their second week in kindergarten and Stiles had wailed on Jackson because he took Scott’s yellow crayon and made him cry. Scott, who’s suffered through every single embarrassing moment of Stiles’ life with him. Scott, who tried (and failed) to make up a convincing lie to Stiles’ Dad when Stiles broke his wrist falling out of a shopping cart. Scott, who wouldn’t be half the successful werewolf he is today without Stiles’ help.

He really doesn’t get why Scott feels the need to keep having all these stupid _bonding sessions_ , or why he refuses to admit that that’s what they are. Because whatever it is they’re called, Scott seems to feel the need to invite Derek along, like _he’s_ Scott’s best friend now or something. And everyone just goes along with it. If one more person tells him he needs to just _get over it_ , he might just scream. 

From Scott – 14:07  
 _movie night tonight??_

To Scott – 14:10  
that could work. Your place?

From Scott – 14:11  
 _uh, no._

To Scott – 14:16  
lydia’s? kira’s? allison’s? please tell me its anywhere besides where I think you might be suggesting

From Scott – 14:18  
 _it was his idea! I just said I’d text you cos I figured you’d actually answer me. Pls come. Its not a movie night without you there._

To Scott – 14:20  
no.

To Scott – 14:27  
and you know what? I can’t believe you’d even ask me. You know why I don’t want to be around him. Why can’t any of you just respect that? Why do you have to keep trying to shove us into the same place all the time? He made it very clear that this is not what he wants.

To Scott – 14:28  
don’t bother asking me any place again unless you can guarantee derek wont be there.

He throws his cell down on his desk and stomps out of his bedroom and down to the den, flopping down on the couch and turning on the TV. A few hours of watching the Discovery channel might just help take his mind of how all of his friends are traitors.

**~ ~ ~**

“This keeps vibrating on your desk.”

Stiles jumps _at least_ half a mile off the couch as his phone is rudely dropped onto his chest and looks up to see his dad standing over him, wearing his pajamas and a thunderous expression on his face.

“Some of us have to work tonight. It’s distracting.”

“Sorry.”

He bids his dad goodnight, or good afternoon, or something as he glares down at his phone. Scott has apparently felt the need to let everyone know that he won’t be attending movie night at His Royal Dickhead’s apartment tonight and the general consensus seems to be that all he needs is a little bit of cajoling to convince him to come along. It's not. No amount of cajoling will make him go to Derek's apartment. He sends a perfunctory group text telling them all thanks but no thanks and that he plans to spend the evening with his one true friend: the internet.

**~ ~ ~**

Except now it’s three and a half hours after he sent that text and he’s bored of Skyrim, and bored of Minecraft and has resorted to re-organizing his porn folder for something to do. Evidently everyone took his “don’t text me” text seriously, because his phone has been still and silent for all of those three and a half hours. If he’s honest, that’s slightly offensive.

“Stiles, visitor!” His dad yells up the stairs. After a minute, when no one appears in his bedroom door, he decides to go downstairs to investigate. His friends usually come straight on up.

“Oh hell no,” He remarks as he gets to the bottom of the stairs and finds Derek standing on his front porch. This is so not part of Operation Falcon. “No. You’re so not welcome here,” He grabs hold of the door and goes to shut it, fixing Derek with an angry glare as he does so.

“Can we talk?” Derek asks, bracing his hand against the door so Stiles can’t close it. “Please?”

“One minute,” Stiles sighs. “And then you can get the hell out of my house and go back to your stupid stealing my friends mission.”

“I’m not trying to steal your friends,” Derek says quietly as Stiles steps out onto the front porch and perches on the railing. “They’re my friends too. My pack.”

“Yeah well you could at least stop monopolizing them all the time.”

“Come over,” Derek tells him as he moves across the porch to lean against the railing beside Stiles, because why ask people to do things when he can just demand it instead. “Scott said to tell you it’s not the same without you and that you’re his version of RiffTrax.”

“Well if Scott wanted his RiffTrax he should have respected my wishes,” Stiles huffs, staring down at his socks because it’s easier than looking at Derek. There’s crocodiles on them and they’re _awesome_.

“What wishes?”

“That they don’t invite me any place you’re at,” Stiles admits after a moment. “I can’t – I don’t want to see you.”

“Why not?”

“You know exactly why not, Derek.”

“Because we had one bad kiss?” Derek asks quietly, like he’s worried Stiles’ dad might also have werewolf hearing and will hear him from the kitchen.

“It wasn’t a bad kiss though,” Stiles snaps, shuffling away from Derek. “As kisses go, it was actually pretty fucking good. In my experience, anyway.”

“That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is, apparently I’m just way too fucking broken for you to consider anything more than a kissing in a parking lot.”

“I don’t think you’re broken,” Derek replies.

“Damaged goods then. Not trustworthy because something possessed me. Whatever.”

“I didn’t come here to fight with you,” Derek sighs. “Please just get in the car and come over to my place. We’re still friends. I mean, I want to still be friends with you.”

“I’ll come over,” Stiles replies stiltedly, sliding off the porch railing and taking a step towards the door. “But Derek, we’re not friends anymore.”

The worst thing about that is he expects Derek to look nonplussed, or shrug or something, but instead he looks deeply hurt and gives Stiles this sad little nod like that’s what he was expecting to be told. It sucks, because ever since he and Derek’s flirting moved from joking around with each other to actual flirting when Stiles was home for spring break, that hurt expression makes him want to reach out and, if not outright hug Derek, at least try and comfort him somehow.

Instead he just brushes past him and goes back into the house to retrieve his sneakers and jacket, slamming the door behind him so Derek can’t follow him inside.

**~ ~ ~**

It’s incredibly awkward, being alone with Derek in his car as they make the twenty five minute drive over to his apartment. Stiles spends most of the ride texting Scott, and demanding that he gives him a ride home later, because there’s no way in hell he’s getting back in a car with Derek.

Derek tries to talk to him a couple of times times, but quickly gives up when it becomes obvious Stiles doesn’t intend to reply and sits in stony silence for the rest of the journey.

It gets easier once they get to Derek’s new apartment and he can get away from him and talk to Cora and Scott and Lydia, and basically anyone but Derek.

Or at least it’s easy until they start up the movie and everyone settles down. Stiles has managed to nab himself what he considers to be a prime spot on the couch, at the optimal angle for the screen and he’s less likely to sit up suddenly mid movie and get in everyone’s way if he’s on the couch instead of the floor. He’s been sending imploring looks in Cora’s direction, hoping she’ll take the hint and sit down beside him, but no, Derek beats her to it and drops down next to Stiles like it ain’t no thang. And that’s not all that bad, at first. Because that used to be the way it would always work out, Derek and he sat next to each because they both had this tendency to unconsciously seek each other out. He figures if he fidgets every so often, like he’s always been prone to do, he can subtly increase the distance between himself and Derek and everything will be fine. He’ll be able to, well, maybe not enjoy, but at least watch Allison’s weird foreign language film in peace, and maybe try and work out what the hell is going on. He got lost and confused right around the part where Penelope Cruz had shown up as a pregnant nun. Allison likes weird films.

Except Isaac ‘I’m a massive asshole and no one actually likes me that much’ Lahey has to come along and ruin that plan by getting all offended when Stiles apparently gets “too close” to him and shoves him away hard, pushing him right up against Derek again.

So Stiles does the mature thing and springs up from the couch like he’s been scalded before rushing off to the kitchen to raid Derek’s fridge instead. By the time he comes back, Scott’s taken his place on the couch and he’s able to flop down on the floor beside Lydia’s chair without anyone giving it much attention.

He really wishes he’d stuck to his guns and stayed at home with his porn and his one man pity party.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles can hear his dad talking to someone as he rushes back into the house to search for his wallet. Probably an old lady. Talking to old ladies who call him ‘young man’ and tell him what a wonderful job he does protecting Beacon Hills is his dad’s favorite hobby. Well, that and maybe trying to find new and interested ways to sneak trans-fats into his diet and assuming everyone is a Kanima. The old lady will probably buy him a few minutes in which to actually find his wallet and avoid another lecture about how he doesn’t look after his belongings.

“I told you I hadn’t lost it!” He calls over his shoulder as he slams and locks the back door.

“Makes a change.”

That doesn’t sound anything like an old lady. That sounds suspiciously like a certain werewolf he’s been vigorously avoiding for the past five days.

And yep, there’s Derek standing beside his dad, like he’s got every right in the world to turn up at Stiles’ house. Again.

“Can we talk?”

“No, no we can’t,” Stiles replies, breezing past them both and yanking on the door handle of his dad’s truck. Which is still locked. Which leaves him looking pretty damn stupid. “I have important things to do. With my dad. So no talky. Go away.”

“Important things?” His dad asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We’re only going to Costco. I’m pretty sure I can manage that just fine on my own.”

Stiles tries to make a ‘shush!’ gesture at his dad, only to be caught in the act by Derek, who looks hurt. Whatever. Not Stiles’ problem.

“That’s important,” Stiles counters. “I need a hot dog and one of those jars of Nutella as big as my head.”

His dad sighs and shrugs, sending a sympathetic glance in Derek’s direction before unlocking the truck.

“I’ll come by later?” Derek tries, stepping closer to the car and grabbing hold of Stiles’ door before he can slam it shut.

“I fully intend to be in a Nutella coma later, so no.”

That earns him a sad nod and the ability, at least, to actually close the door. He absolutely doesn’t watch Derek in the side mirror, and certainly doesn’t feel even the tiniest bit guilty when he sees the way Derek’s shoulders slump sadly as he sits in the front seat of his own car and does nothing for a moment before speeding off.

**~ ~ ~**

Disappointingly, Costco doesn’t have jars of Nutella as big as his head, but he does get an amazing deal on a crate of energy drinks, which definitely isn’t the worst thing to ever happen to him. He keeps expecting his dad to ask him about Derek and is on guard the whole way around the store.

And because his dad is evil, he waits until they’re sitting down in the food court and Stiles has just taken a huge bite out of his hot dog before he drops the ‘so what was all that with Derek?’ question. Right when Stiles can’t make a sprint for freedom without abandoning his food.

“Nuffin’” Stiles manages, chewing furiously. “I mean,” He tries again as he chokes down bread and cheap meat, “Nothing. I didn’t want to talk to him is all.”

“He’s a good kid,” His dad says over his coffee.

“He’s not a kid, dad. He’s twenty five.” He doesn’t know exactly when it happened, that his dad got it into his head that Derek is a good influence on people and actively started encouraging Stiles and Scott to include him in their plans. Frankly, it’s unnatural. Derek is a terrible influence on people.

“Did you two have a fight?”

“Derek doesn’t have fights,” Stiles grouses. “Derek _inflicts_ himself on people. And then systematically ruins their lives.”

“Right. And what’s he done to ruin your life this week?”

“Dad, I’m not having this conversation with you here. Or anywhere. Because there’s no conversation to have. Ever. So, you know, stop talking.”

“If that’s what you want,” His dad replies with a small smile.

They finish up their food without further incident and it’s only when Stiles is happily ensconced in a round of Draw Something with Lydia that his dad raises the D word again.

“I wouldn’t mind, you know,” He says suddenly, turning off the radio and thankfully silencing Kelly Clarkson. Stiles would have done that himself but it felt like far too much effort. “If you and Derek were – together.”

“Well I would mind,” Stiles huffs. “And anyway, that’s not even on the table, so I don’t know why you’re suggesting it.”

“Seems like it could be on the table. If you wanted it to be,” His dad replies.

“It’s not me that doesn’t want it,” Stiles admits as he quits his game and puts his phone back in his pocket. “It’s him. And that’s not the point. The point is, he’s a jackass.”

“He sure seems interested for someone who isn’t interested.”

“That’s the problem. It’s all mixed signals and misunderstandings with him. Ever since that night we all went out when we first came back for summer.”

“What’s so special about that night?”

“We kissed,” Stiles sighs. “And it was fine, nice actually, but then, because he’s a tool, he decided that he just can’t forgive me for, you know, getting possessed against my will and that nothing I can say will change that.”

It feels good to get it off his chest; he’s tried with his friends, but they all seem determined to be Switzerland and remain neutral and he’s resigned himself to having to spend his whole summer feeling awkward and uncomfortable any time he’s around Derek and not getting to talk about how he actually feels about this whole clusterfuck of a situation.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” His dad replies with a frown. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“I know that! But apparently that’s not good enough for him. And you know what? It fucking sucks, Dad,” He ignores the little tut he gets for swearing and plows on. “I actually like him. Like really like him, and he made me think that he likes me too and it’s fucking unfair. And instead of understanding and respecting that, everyone is all ‘oh get over it, come hang out with him!’ and I hate it.”

His dad just pats him on the knee understandingly and promises that next time Derek turns up at their house, he’ll just tell him to get lost. It’s a nice show of solidarity, but deep down, Stiles doesn’t really want Derek to get lost. He just wants Derek to kiss him again.

He doesn’t say that to his dad though, just flops back in his seat and listens to his dad telling him how he’s a great kid and Derek’s an idiot for what he did to Stiles. At one point he even jokingly threatens to arrest Derek for breaking Stiles’ heart, which does at least draw a laugh from Stiles. That’d certainly show the jerk who’s the boss.

Or at least who’s dad is the boss.


	5. Chapter 5

This summer is turning out to be incredibly boring, Stiles thinks to himself as he thumbs through a dog eared copy of The Catcher in the Rye while rolling an old lacrosse ball across the bed with his foot. He’s read it a million times before, but he’s bored and can’t be bothered going to library to find something new to read. Which is a shame, because all re-reading it is doing is reminding him how much he dislikes Holden Caulfield.

There’s the sound footsteps on the stairs, too light to be his dad so it’s probably one of his friends; his suspicions are confirmed when Scott’s head appears round his door, his hair messy and a happy smile on his face.

“You know,” Stiles comments as he turns his attention back to his book. “I don’t even need your heightened senses to know what you’ve been doing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Scott replies, pulling the lacrosse ball out from under Stiles’ foot and tossing it against the door and catching it without even looking. _Showing off_ , Stiles thinks and tells him as such.

“So have you just come here to flaunt the fact that you’re getting sex and I’m not?” Stiles asks after a few minutes, when the thudding of the ball has gotten too much to ignore. “Because given that I’m getting exactly no sex whatsoever _and_ haven’t had any for over five months now, I’d say that’s pretty damn cruel.”

“Who says I’ve been having sex?” Scott asks innocently, tossing the ball at Stiles and hitting him in the stomach.

“Your hair is speaking volumes right now,” Stiles points out as he puts down his book and sits up. “It’s all shitty and flat in the back. Although I’m not sure what it says about me that I know you’re too damn lazy to get on top.”

“Kira likes it that way.”

“Where is Little Miss Sunshine anyway?”

“Spending the day with her parents,” Scott sighs. “She dropped me on her way home. So, what are we doing?”

“Interrupting people’s lazy days?” Stiles suggests. “Oh no wait, that’s just you. What do you want to do?”

“Dunno. Hey, we could drive out to the beach.”

“Sure. Oh hey wait, the nearest beach with something more to do that look at the water is Eureka. I’m not driving pretty much all the way back to school just because you want to hang out at the beach.”

“Fort Bragg isn’t that far,” Scott tries.

“Fort Bragg is soul destroyingly boring.”

“You think of something then.”

“Easier said than done,” Stiles sighs. “There’s nothing to do in this town. I miss Arcata. At least there are decent bars there.”

“You mean at least none of the bartenders know how old you actually are?”

“That too.”

“Hey what about that water park we went to with my cousins that summer?” Scott asks, sitting up in Stiles’ desk chair and spinning around to open his laptop. “You know, that one in Sacramento.”

“That could work,” Stiles says as he gets off the bed and rolls Scott away from his laptop. Last time Scott used his laptop, there was a whole lot of complaining about how Stiles had left a porn video open and how Scott didn’t need to see that. Although that had been the time Scott had come to visit him at school and hadn’t seen Kira for two months and was all sex starved and crazy. “We should hit up In-N-Out while we’re down there.”

Scott gets all giddy at that suggestion, musing about how he could ‘totally finish a 20x20 on his own now’. Stiles elects not to tell him that that’s not an option anymore. He doesn’t want to ruin Scott’s day.

By the time they’ve got their stuff together and swung by Scott’s house, it’s nearly 11am and it’s only when they’re a good half an hour away from Beacon Hills that Stiles asks the question that’s been bugging him all morning.

“How come you didn’t ask Isaac to come?”

Scott looks up from his cell and frowns. “You wanted me to ask Isaac along?”

“Not really, no. Just curious.”

“I figured we needed a bro-day,” Scott shrugs. “I know you’ve been kind of, uh, upset about the whole Derek thing. About us all making you hang out with him when you don’t want to.”

“OK, first off, I haven’t been _upset_ ,” Stiles replies. “I’ve been pissed off. And second, you’re fucking awesome, you know that?”

Scott beams hugely at him and nods. Apparently Scott does indeed know that he’s awesome. Bestest bro ever.

**~ ~ ~  
**

Awesome Water Park Day, as Stiles has dubbed it, is exactly what he needed to take his mind off things. He had gotten propositioned by an insanely hot girl in an insanely small bikini top while he and Scott were waiting to ride the Cliffhanger, and had been considering meeting up with her at the bottom until Scott had helpfully pointed out that she looked like she was still in high school.

“Those were not high school boobs,” Stiles had protested when Scott had dragged him away towards the wave pool. His protesting had fallen on deaf ears though, _and_ had earned him a supremely disapproving look, tinged with just a little hint of red, because even though Scott is awesome, he still likes to be a bit of a dick about his alpha-ness sometimes too. It had been half hearted protesting at best though; if he’s honest, he’s still feeling pretty confused and hung up on the whole Derek thing to bother looking for tiny-bikini-girl. Operation Falcon is not progressing the way he’d hoped.

By the time they leave the park to head over to In-N-Out, he’s rocking a pretty nasty sunburn to Scott’s annoyingly deep tan and can’t bring himself to put his shirt back on because it rubs against his shoulders and neck and that _hurts_.

“This has been great,” He says sincerely, interrupting Scott’s monologue about how he can’t decide between whether to have his fries with just cheese or animal style. “I mean it man, it’s pretty much exactly what I needed. Thanks.”

“Good to know,” Scott grins as he claps Stiles on the shoulder, wincing in sympathy when Stiles hisses at his touch.

“Maybe I was wrong about how great this was,” Stiles huffs, leaning forward so his bare skin doesn’t touch the Jeep’s seat.

Somehow, they make it to In-N-Out, and then back on the road to Beacon Hills without further incident. Scott gets two portions of fries in the end, one with just cheese, the other animal style because even by the time they’d reached the restaurant, he still hadn’t been able to make a decision.

**~ ~ ~  
**

“I think I’m going to ask Kira to marry me,” Scott blurts out suddenly as they pass a sign announcing that Beacon Hills is just twenty miles away. Stiles manages not to slam on the brakes at that, but does raise his eyebrows in surprise. “I really love her,” Scott continues, pointing towards the road ahead of them until Stiles takes the hint and pays attention to what he’s supposed to be doing.

“Huh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Huh?”

“Just huh,” Stiles replies. “Why?”

“Why am I going to ask her to marry me? Because I’m seriously in love with her,” Scott huffs. “And I want to be with her. Forever.”

“You’re nineteen.”

“So?”

“So how do you know?” Stiles asks. “How can you know she’s the one girl you want to spend the rest of your life with?”

“Because I just do,” Scott grouses.

“You used to think you were going to marry Allison and that _she_ was the only girl in the world for you,” Stiles points out.

“Well I was wrong about Allison, obviously. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Sorry,” Stiles sighs. “I’m trying to be pumped for you, honestly. Just seems like, wow, big step.”

“Huge step,” Scott agrees, “But I know this is what I want.”

“You think she’ll say yes?”

“God, I hope so.”

“She’d be crazy not to,” Stiles says with absolutely no hesitation. Because she really would. And yeah, maybe it’s weird that his best friend, who is a whole seven weeks younger than him, is thinking about things like _marriage_ when Stiles himself hasn’t even had a relationship that lasted for more than a month, but maybe it’s kind of awesome as well. “When are you going to do it?”

“I have no clue,” Scott replies. “I only thought about it today. I’ll have to like, buy her a ring and everything.”

“I’ve heard those are pretty damn pricey,” Stiles points out. For reasons he’s not entirely sure of. And then Scott’s face just _falls_. Like it had never occurred to him that an engagement ring might cost him a fair chunk of change and that makes Stiles feel like the worst friend in the entire world. “But come on, you know Kira,” Stiles continues. “She’d probably be just as thrilled with something from PacSun or Forever 21. Doesn’t have to be some dumb overpriced rock just because society says it should.”

“You think so?”

“Sure, why not?”

“You’re going to help me right? Find her a ring?”

“Uh,” Stiles starts as he picks at where the plastic is starting to split on the Jeep’s steering wheel. “That sounds like more of a girl thing. Maybe you should ask Lydia or Allison.”

“Oh sure, ask my ex-girlfriend to come help me pick out an engagement ring for my current girlfriend. That doesn’t sound like it would be traumatic or anything. You’re coming with me. End of.”

“I changed my mind,” Stiles grumbles. “This is a horrible, horrible idea.”

“We’re going to the mall tomorrow.”

“I hate you.”

Scott grins at him and leans across the car to prod Stiles hard in the shoulder, laughing when he hisses and flinches away. “No, you love me.”

They lapse into silence at that, Scott smiling to himself as he stares out of the window while Stiles wonders how everyone’s lives are moving on so much when his is barely going anywhere.

“You’ll be my best man, right?” Scott asks when they pull up outside his house.

“What about Isaac?”

“What about him?”

“I just thought – I mean, you live with him. Here and at school. Hell, you go to the same school. He’s your beta. He – he never stabbed you with a fucking demon samurai sword. I mean, I could keep going but there are probably a million reasons why he’d make a better best man than me,” Stiles says quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on the odometer, because he doesn’t trust himself to look at Scott.

“Stiles,” Scott says gently. “No one blames you for what happened, you know. It wasn’t you that – that stabbed me. I’m never going to blame you for that, OK? And sure, me and Isaac live together and everything, but you’re always going to be my best friend. Being at different schools doesn’t change that. Nothing’ll change that, OK?”

Stiles nods. Nodding is easier than speaking. There’s less expected of him.

“But,” Scott continues, “If you’re going to be my best man, you have to help me find her a ring. Even if it is from Forever 21 or one of those places.”

“Fine. I think I can deal with ring shopping. I’d say lets hug this shit out, but you know, sunburn,” Stiles says at last. Scott pulls a face and then holds his fist out for Stiles to bump, refusing to move until he does so.

“So, mall tomorrow,” Scott adds as he opens the door. Stiles nods and bids him goodbye, watching Scott as he walks up his front yard and into the house. It’s only then when he finally pulls away, wondering when exactly it was his friends’ lives started to seem so much more grown up than his own. He wants to be happy for Scott, is happy for Scott deep down, but at the same time, can’t help but feel jealous that he can’t even get a second kiss with the guy he likes while Scott is talking about marriage and forever.

It’s not that late when he parks up outside his own house, but he’s worked himself into such a funk over feeling immature and like his life might just be going nowhere that he just heads on inside and falls into his bed, still stinking of chlorine and wearing his board shorts and doesn’t care one bit.

**~ ~ ~  
**

Stiles finds himself wrestling the garbage cans down to the sidewalk a few days later, because apparently being miserable about Derek isn’t a good enough excuse to get out of doing chores, especially, according to his dad, when he doesn’t even have a summer job.

He tries to point out that Lydia and Allison don’t have summer jobs either, only to be reminded that that’s because the Argents and the Martins are in a much better financial position than they are.

And of course it’s the story of his life that the only other person he knows who’s better off than both Allison and Lydia is loitering by his car right outside Stiles’ house, watching him lug the garbage down the front yard, and _of course_ not offering the tiniest bit of help.

“What in the hell do you want?” Stiles asks when he’s a few feet away from Derek and garbage can-less. Derek just shrugs and lounges back against his car like this is some normal situation for them to find themselves in. The sad thing was, that up until a few weeks ago, it was. He hung out with Derek pretty much exclusively on spring break because everyone else was either staying at school or all coupled up.

“No one else is around,” Derek says at last. And because he’s still kind of mad at Derek for ditching him outside the bar that night, all Stiles can really think is ‘why doesn’t he have friends his own age?’. “That looks painful,” He adds, gesturing to Stiles’ sunburned shoulders. “What happened?”

“Water park,” Stiles shrugs. Because what does Derek care if he’s burned? “Why?”

“Want me –” Derek starts, taking a half step closer and holds his hand out; he’s offering to take Stiles’ pain, and for a moment, Stiles almost takes him up on his offer but remembers at the last minute that he’s still mad at Derek and just scowls down at his hand instead. “Sorry.”

Stiles shrugs again, unsure of what else he’s supposed to say.

“Sorry,” Derek says again. “I’m – I’ll leave.”

Stiles watches him as he turns and pulls open his car door. “I don’t want to be mad at you,” He tells Derek’s back. “OK? I want us to be friends again but you fucking hurt me. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to just get over that.”

“No one’s asking you to just get over it,” Derek says softly, keeping his gaze fixed on his car. “But I figured actually talking to each other would be a good starting point.”

Stiles scowls at his back for a few more seconds, unable to decide if he feels more annoyed at the way Derek’s tee is stretched so tightly across his shoulders or the fact that he’s wearing actual shorts. Stupid baggy denim shorts that look like something Scott would have worn in middle school when they decided they were going to be skaters. Because how is he supposed to carry out Operation Falcon if Derek keeps showing up and being nice to him and reminding him that he owns the most beautiful shoulders Stiles has ever seen. Or that he’s capable of dressing in something other than tight, dark wash denim. Or that he has actual legs.

“You want to come in?” He hears himself asking. Why is he asking Derek if he wants to come in? That’s a horrible idea. That’s not even vaguely in keeping with the ground rules of Operation Falcon.

“You sure?” Derek asks as he turns around to face Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles hears himself say. “I guess.”

Which is how they end up out in Stiles’ backyard, Stiles sprawling out on the grass, trying to pretend it isn’t aggravating his sunburn too much and Derek sitting on the steps down from the back porch. There’s still the weird tension between them, but Stiles thinks maybe he’ll just try to power on through it.

“Scott’s going to propose,” He says into the still evening air.

“To you?”

“Yeah,” He scoffs, propping himself up on his elbows so he can see Derek’s face. “Of course to me. No, you tool, to Kira.”

“Huh.”

“I know, right?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but I could hear what you weren’t saying,” Stiles laughs as he lays back down. “He already proposed to me once when we were in the first grade, but I said no. I’m pretty sure I’m not marriage material.”

“When?”

“No idea, we were supposed to go out to the mall the other day so he could like, ring shop and stuff, but he had to work instead. So after that I guess.”

“Think she’ll say yes?” Derek asks. His question is followed by two soft thumps and Stiles looks up again to see that he’s kicked off his sneakers. If seeing Derek Hale’s actual legs was weird, seeing his feet is quite frankly unnerving and Stiles quickly looks away so he won’t have to get distracted by Derek’s toes.

“Probably. Is it wrong that I find it kind of weird? People my age getting engaged and shit?”

“Not really,” Derek replies. “I felt the same way when I was with Cora in New York. All these people I knew are married or have kids now.”

“Not your scene, huh?”

“Which part?”

“Either, I guess,” Stiles says with a shrug, wincing when the movement makes the grass prickle at his sunburn again. “You don’t really seem the, uh, paternal type.”

They both go quiet then, and Stiles feels like a complete ass, because he knows about Derek’s family, how many of them there were, and how much he used to dote on his younger cousins. He knows all this because Derek has told him, in fits and starts, over the years. And instead he’s lying here being a dick and telling Derek he doesn’t seem like he’d make a good dad. When actually, he probably would. Because he’s seen Derek talking to little kids, and he’s worryingly natural with them. The last time Stiles was around a baby, his cousin Marissa’s daughter, he made the stupid kid cry every time he went near her. Babies are weird.

“Sorry,” He mumbles. When Derek doesn’t say anything in response, Stiles casts around for something else to talk about and ends up reminding Derek how The Mets are infinitely better than The Yankees. It’s a lame cop out, because he knows Derek will happily argue about baseball for hours at a time. But arguing about baseball is better than feeling like he’s kicked Derek’s metaphorical puppy, so argue about baseball he will.

By the time Derek leaves a couple of hours later when it’s just starting to grow properly dark, it feels like while they might not quite be friends again already, that they’re maybe at least getting back on the right track.

Maybe it’s time to shelve Operation Falcon, at least just in the short term.


	6. Chapter 6

Shelving Operation Falcon, at least in the short term, might make life easier in one respect, but it doesn’t mean Stiles isn’t still kind of hurt by what happened. At the end of the day though, he misses getting to talk to Derek, and well, if talking to Derek hurts right now, he’ll just have to deal with that. It might be a little easier to deal if he didn’t still have such a ridiculous crush on Derek.

A crush that is not helped by Derek ambling through the gate to Lydia’s back yard wearing those fucking shorts again. And no goddamn shoes. It’s like he’s worked out that his legs are one of Stiles’ major weaknesses and is determined to make him suffer. So instead of saying ‘hi’ to Derek and Cora like a normal human, he makes a pathetic excuse and heads into the house, ostensibly to get himself the drink he’s adamant he needs, but mostly to try and calm himself down over the fact that Derek’s wearing shorts again. After all, it’s a hot day and everyone else is wearing shorts too. Hell, _he’s_ wearing his board shorts. And from the quick glimpse he’d got, Cora’s wearing shorts that barely even cover her ass. So why can’t he just deal with the fact that Derek Hale apparently wears shorts now?

He’s drinking a soda and idly flicking his way through a magazine he found on the breakfast bar when he hears someone come into the kitchen behind him and glances over his shoulder to see Danny filling a glass of water at the sink. Once he’s done, he settles himself against the counter and fixing Stiles with a long, thoughtful stare.

“So what’s the deal with you and Derek?” Danny asks eventually, loud enough that every single fucking werewolf outside, hell, in California, can probably hear him. Why is Danny even here? Scott’s group-slash-pack bonding sessions are bad enough without him inviting along people who, well, aren’t. People who think it’s appropriate to start asking him what the _deal_ is with him and Derek. There’s no deal.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles replies as he continues to leaf through his magazine, at the same time tilting his head to indicate that Danny should come closer if he wants to talk.

“I mean, you left the bar together that night,” Danny continues, thankfully quieter than before, “but you’re not together now, right?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“We’re just not, OK? What do you care?”

“I don’t,” Danny replies with a shrug. Stiles snorts at that, because at least Danny’s honest.

“So why are you asking?”

“He’s fair game, right?” Danny asks. “You’re not with him after all.”

“He’s kind of messed up,” Stiles replies slowly, a horrible cold shiver going through him. Because seriously? Now he’s going to have to sit and watch Danny flirt with Derek? Did the universe decide his life wasn’t enough of a joke already?

“And? I’m not exactly looking for a relationship with the guy,” Danny tells him. Stiles keeps his gaze fixed on the magazine in front of him but can feel Danny watching him and makes a non-committal noise in response. Given that he’s resigned himself to just being friends with Derek and Operation Falcon is tentatively shelved, he doesn’t feel like he can really tell Danny that actually no, no Derek really isn’t fair game and that the last thing he wants to do is watch Danny put his moves on Derek, because nine and a half times out of ten, Danny’s moves work.

“Thought you’d have had enough of werewolves,” Stiles says at last as he drains the last of his soda and flips the magazine closed, pretending he can’t hear how brittle his own voice sounds right now. “After Ethan.”

“I did for a bit,” Danny replies. “But then you start to miss the stamina, you know?”

Stiles shrugs, because no, he doesn’t know, and his attempt to try and know was shut down pretty damn quickly.

“So you’re cool with it?” Danny asks again, putting a hand on Stiles’ arm to stop him when he attempts to leave the kitchen.

“Just – just do whatever the hell you want,” Stiles snaps. “But don’t except me to sit around and sympathize when he inevitably dumps his baggage on you. This is Derek we’re talking about, after all.”

He shrugs Danny off him and stalks out of the house before he can say anything, making a bee line for where Scott is sitting and dropping down into the lounger beside him.

“You OK man?” Scott asks, promptly abandoning his conversation with Allison. Stiles just shrugs in reply, unable to look away as across the pool, Danny heads in Derek’s direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Allison and Scott looking in the same direction and, ugh, Danny actually has his hand on Derek’s arm and is doing that looking-earnestly-into-his-eyes-and-nodding bullshit that never seems to fail.

“I officially hate this summer,” Stiles grumbles.

“Come on,” Allison says suddenly, getting to her feet and holding her hands out to Stiles; he stares at it for a moment before taking them and letting her pull him up, following her obediently as she leads him back towards the house. “You can help me get a drink.”

Stiles dutifully follows her, shrugging when Scott shoots him a bemused look.

“Sorry,” Allison tells him as she grabs two beers from the refrigerator and carries on through the house to the lounge. “I kind of needed to get out of there myself.”

“How come?”

“Scott told me,” Allison says quietly as she twists the cap off her beer. “About Kira. About proposing.”

“Seems Scott’s telling everyone except Kira about that,” Stiles says after a moment as he tries to roll his own bottle cap between his fingers.

“Is it weird that I feel weird about it?” Allison asks, pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her head against the back of the couch. “Be honest.”

“You’re asking me?” Stiles laughs. “Dude, I’m hiding from Derek because I don’t want to watch Danny make googly eyes at him all afternoon. I’d say you’ve got every right to feel weird about Scott proposing.”

“Oh God, what if Isaac thinks _he’s_ got to propose to _me_?” Allison says suddenly, a complicated expression crossing her face. “We’ve been together just as long as Scott and Kira.”

“You don’t want him to?”

“No! I want to finish college first and do something with my life before I think about getting proposed to!” Allison replies with a snort. “Do people really get engaged at our age?”

“My friend from school, Hannah,” Stiles starts, “She came to college engaged. To this guy she’s been dating since eighth grade.”

Allison looks just a little bit horrified at that idea, draining a good third of her beer before she replies. “The guy I dated in eighth? His favorite band was Nickelback.”

“Eww.”

“I know, right?”

“What’s your point?”

“I just can’t imagine wanting to be with someone I’d known through their Nickelback phase, I guess,” She goes quiet for a moment before the corner of her mouth twists up, like she’s trying hard to laugh. “He’d want a Nickelback song for the first dance!” She splutters after a moment. Stiles laughs too at that because eww.

“Scott’ll want Blink 182, won’t he?” He manages to get out between laughs.

“Be fair,” Allison snorts in response. “He’s grown up a lot now. He’ll want something classy like Sum 41, or, or maybe Simple Plan.”

They’re still laughing uncontrollably when Lydia appears in the doorway to the lounge and shepherds them back out into the garden. Evidently they haven’t been fully forgiven since the last time they got drunk at Lydia’s house.

“Come on,” Allison says in a conspiratorial whisper as she links her arm through Stiles’ own, “If I have to suck it up and deal with my Scott issues for the afternoon, you can do the same with your Derek issues.”

Stiles nods dejectedly at that, because she’s probably right. She usually is. It doesn’t mean he has to like it though.

“New Found Glory,” She adds quietly as they step out onto the baking hot flag stones around the pool, making Stiles crease up again and drawing confused stares from everyone else.

~ ~ ~

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it where can you buy a fucking collar and bell?” Stiles sighs in exasperation as he brushes the beer he’s just spilled off his chest. “Because I can definitely help you with that. Or maybe you could just, I don’t know, not sneak up on people.”

Derek pulls a complicated face at him, like he doesn’t even know where to start with that.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asks woodenly after a couple of seconds of awkward staring at each other.

“Why is Danny flirting with me?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say you know how you look, right?”

Derek scowls at him. “ _Yes_. And I don’t look any different from the first time I met him. Why’s he doing it?”

“Here’s an idea,” Stiles huffs. “Go ask him.”

“I don’t want to ask him,” Derek complains petulantly, trailing after Stiles when he tries to walk away. “I don’t want him to flirting with me.”

“So tell him that then. Jesus Christ, Derek. You’re twenty five years old. I’m sure you can man up and ask someone to stop flirting with you,” Stiles snaps. _That or just run away from them_ , he adds in his head. Because trying to be friendly towards Derek is one thing; counseling his ignorant ass on how to not be flirted with is another entirely.

“Are you mad at me?” Derek asks, snatching Stiles’ beer bottle away from him before he can take another drink and use it as an excuse not to answer that question. Because maybe he is. Mad at Derek.

“So what if I am?” He says at last.

“Because Danny’s flirting with me?”

“You can flirt with whoever the fuck you want,” Stiles replies. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I’m not flirting with anyone,” Derek snaps. “That was all on Danny. You think I like it when you flirt with my little sister?”

“I traded shorts with her,” Stiles grits out. Because that definitely hadn’t been flirting. That had just been him trying to make a point to Cora that her shorts were super revealing. She’d straight up _laughed_ at his ass. Definitely not flirting. “That’s not flirting. And guess what, you’re the one who walked away that night outside the bar, you don’t get to be mad about this.”

“And you don’t get to keep telling me how I’m allowed to feel about – about whatever the hell this is,” Derek counters angrily, waving his hand between the two of them. “Was. Whatever.”

“So tell me,” Stiles snaps, slapping Derek’s hand away. “Tell me what the fuck it is you’re thinking. Because you know what? I’m seriously confused here. Some of us don’t get to just sniff out other people’s emotions.”

For a moment, he thinks he might just get an answer to his question, because Derek’s mulish expression wavers, like he’s thinking of actually using his words for once. Except it only takes a moment before Derek reverts to his usual closed off self, his mouth a thin, tight line as he shakes his head sadly.

“I can’t,” He says softly.

“Well color me fucking surprised,” Stiles snaps, throwing his hands up in the air. “Of course you wouldn’t want to talk about it. That’d be the sensible, sane and above all, normal, thing to do.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching him with that same stoic expression on his face, so Stiles does the only thing that makes sense. He turns and walks away, stopping only to grab his shirt and car keys from where he’d abandoned them earlier and ignoring Scott’s worried questions about if he should really be driving right now. And well no, he probably shouldn’t be driving but if he has to spend another single second looking at Derek and having all his friends pull sympathetic expressions at him he might just fucking scream.

“Stiles,” Scott calls, and out of the corner of his eye, Stiles can see him getting up from his chair and moving towards him, except the pool is in between the two of them and Stiles just keeps on walking purposefully towards the side of the house, pretending like he hasn’t heard Scott.

~ ~ ~

His cell beeps later that evening, but he chooses to ignore it, figuring that it’s only going to be Scott chewing him out for leaving the way he did earlier. Watching Hoarders seems far more important right now. After his phone chirps another three times, he reluctantly snatches up from the floor beside the couch and glares at it.

From Scott – 21:47  
 _how in the hell do people actually propose to people?!?!?!_

From Scott – 21:57  
 _srsly dude. Im having a crisis here. How do they even do it?!_

From Scott – 22:03  
 _i tried to ask her when i drove her home but i ended up bottling it instead and telling her how I thought we should have dinner with her parents instead._

From Scott – 22:04  
 _Shit. Dude, i haven’t even asked her dad yet. Fuck. how am i supposed to do that?!?! HELP. ME._

To Scott – 22:07  
Are you panicking? You sound like you’re panicking. You’re totally panicking right now, aren’t you? I can smell your panic from here.

From Scott – 22:08  
 _I said help me not mock me :(_

To Scott – 22:09  
But you make it so easy!

To Scott – 22:10  
why do you have to ask her dad? Isn’t that kinda outdated and old fashioned?

From Scott – 22:12  
 _I don’t know. I thought that was something people did. What am I supposed to do?!_

To Scott – 22:15  
You’re asking me? Me with my amazing track record with relationships? Did you forget the part where the longest relationship I’ve had was three weeks with that girl who was still sleeping with her ex the whole time?

From Scott – 22:18  
 _I’m gonna ask her dad_

From Scott – 22:19  
 _tomorrow._

From Scott – 22:23  
 _and then I’ll ask her on Thursday._

To Scott – 22:25  
good luck with that.

From Scott – 22:28  
 _don’t need luck._

From Scott- 22:28  
 _got a plan_

From Scott – 22:31  
 _r u ok btw? What Derek say to make you walk out?_

To Scott – 22:35  
Who is this Derek person you’re talking about? I don’t know anyone called Derek.

From Scott – 22:36  
 _if you say so_

To Scott – 22:40  
I have to finish watching Hoarders. Make sure you don’t panic and ask her dad to have dinner with you instead.

From Scott – 22:41  
 _dick. nn._


	7. Chapter 7

He doesn’t really speak to anyone for the next few days, or at least anyone in Beacon Hills. He’s not actively avoiding everyone, but he’s already had enough of his friend’s and their ‘poor-Stiles-threw-himself-at-Derek-again-and-got-knocked-back- _again_ ’ sympathy and he’s fairly certain that they all know the real reason he stormed out of Lydia’s back yard last week; it’s bad enough that he feels like a petulant child without his friend’s reminding him that’s exactly how he behaved.

Scott texts him a few times, ostensibly to make sure he’s OK, but also to continue to panic about how he still hasn’t managed to propose to Kira. The most recent texts, the ones he got at three in the morning when Scott clearly couldn’t sleep for worrying about how to propose to Kira seem to be a weird stream of consciousness ramble about how he might have to resort to texting her and asking her because then he can’t bottle it all the while wondering if it would be tacky to propose via text. The only appropriate response to that Stiles can think of is “DEAR GOD”.

What he does do with all his suddenly free time is Skype with his college friends; Hannah is busy trying to plan and organize and gently harangue them all into making a decision about the off campus house they’re going to rent when they move back to Arcata in the fall.

“Of course it’s boring,” Stiles interrupts as via video chat, Toby complains about life back in small town Wyoming. “It’s a square. Square states are boring.” Frankly, Toby should be grateful for his boring small town summer, because even though Stiles’ own summer has been pretty boring and quiet too, he can’t help but think there’s something big just over the horizon, that something is going to go full scale Beacon Hills wrong any minute.

“Your logic never fails to astound me,” Toby replies lazily as Stiles frowns down at his phone. There’s yet another text from Scott, complaining about how he’d gone over to Kira’s to try and talk to her dad about the whole proposal thing and somehow ended up pulling weeds in the back yard for her mom instead when it turned out her dad wasn’t home.

Stiles is fully convinced that at this rate, they’ll all have graduated before Scott manages to actually ask Kira to marry him.

**~ ~ ~**

“Isaac's missing."

"And I'm sleeping," Stiles replies, tugging his comforter over his head and hoping Scott will take the hint and go away. It's been nearly a week since he last saw Scott, and if he's completely honest, he could have happily gone for at least another three or four hours without seeing him if this is the way he's planning on behaving.

" _Stiles_."

"Is _sleeping_. If he's still missing this afternoon, maybe I'll pretend to show some concern then."

"It is the afternoon," Scott points out as he grabs at the covers and hauls them aside. "Ugh. Since when do you sleep naked?" He asks affrontedly, turning away from Stiles and sitting down in his desk chair.

"It got warm last night," Stiles replies with a shrug. He turns and leans over the side of his bed to retrieve his comforter, not caring that he's just given Scott a flash of his dick in the process.

"Stiles, just get up and put some clothes on," Scott sighs. "We need your help."

"Isaac doesn't like me," Stiles tells him as he lies back, shoving his arms under the pillow. "He'd probably be mortally offended if he knew I was involved."

"Stop being stupid," Scott demands, grabbing hold of Stiles' comforter again and yanking it clean off the bed. Stiles glares at him as he hurls it into the far corner of the room, where he'd definitely have to get out of bed to retrieve the stupid thing. "And don't think I'm going to be all horrified into leaving at the sight of your dick," Scott adds grumpily as he jabs his pointer finger in Stiles' direction. "We've been having post gym showers together since the fifth grade. That thing isn’t as impressive or terrifying as you like to think it is."

He crosses the room while he's talking and starts rooting through Stiles' dresser, yanking out a pair of boxer shorts and nailing Stiles in the face with them when he tosses them across the room.

"Don't like these," Stiles remarks as he drops them onto the floor beside the bed. "They're too constricting. How am I supposed to save the day if it feels like my balls are in a vice?"

Scott huffs moodily at him but pulls out another pair anyway and throws them to Stiles. "Just get dressed OK?" And then he actually _flashes his eyes_ at Stiles, deep red replacing their usual brown, like Stiles is his beta and will just do as he’s told. Foolish Scott, very foolish.

“Impressive,” He snorts as he lifts his ass off the bed and pulls on his boxer shorts, fighting back a smirk when Scott holds his hand up quickly and turns his head away because he apparently just got a flash of everything else and isn’t impressed. “So what’s the plan? When did he go missing? _Why_ did he go missing?”

“Don’t know,” Scott says dolefully. “Allison called me up this morning all panicked ‘cause she hasn’t seen him for like, two days. And I checked with my mom, she said he hasn’t been home for even longer.”

“Don’t you have, I dunno, like some alpha GPS trick where you just _know_ where your dumbass betas are?”

“Well if I do, I sure as hell don’t know how to activate it.”

Stiles snorts and finally gets off the bed, crossing to his dresser and fishing out a clean shirt before pulling on the khakis he’d worn yesterday. Looking for missing idiots doesn’t seem like something that’ll keep his clothes clean. “So what’s your plan?”

“I don’t have a plan,” Scott admits as Stiles tugs on his shirt. “I was kind of hoping you would. Well, you and Derek would. Don’t pull that face.”

“So stop saying ‘you and Derek’ like there’s an actual me and Derek. What makes you think he’ll be able to find Isaac any easier than you can?”

“He turned him,” Scott points out. “Maybe it works different for him.”

“You’re really going to make me spend the day with Derek, even though things are still weird between us just because Isaac probably got lost on his way home.”

Scott just gives him this _look_ and Stiles promptly goes quiet, resigning himself to having to spend his day with Derek just because Isaac probably did in fact get lost on his way home.

He's already starting to feel envious of Toby and his small-town-square-state boring summer.

**~ ~ ~**

Isaac, it turns out when they all meet up at Derek’s, probably didn’t get lost on his way home. No one’s seen him since he left Allison’s apartment a couple of days ago, but apparently Derek, in his role as token-group-paranoid-who-goes-sniffing-around-the-woods (as Stiles is currently referring to him in his head), caught the scent of another werewolf on the edges of the preserve that morning.

“Why were you hanging out in the woods?” Stiles asks, cutting Lydia off mid-flow as she explains what she thinks they should all be doing. None of which seems to involve asking Derek why he’s a paranoid nutjob who stalks around the woods by himself.

“I was running,” Derek huffs. “That’s a normal thing normal people do.”

“What, five miles out into the wilderness? Yeah, that’s real normal.”

Lydia breathes out heavily through her nose, slapping her hands down on the kitchen counter and glaring at them. “Are you finished?”

Stiles smirks and shrugs, because no, he’s not finished. He could happily spend another, oh, fifteen or twenty minutes pointing out to Derek all the ways in which he isn’t normal.

“So,” Scott adds, scowling at Stiles as he lifts himself onto the counter and starts drumming his heels against one of the cupboard doors. “Me, Derek, Cora and Allison will go follow this scent Derek picked up in the woods. Maybe you guys should go wait at my place, in case he comes home.”

“Yeah, because all the best plans start with me and Derek will go into the woods,” Stiles points out. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re going with Lydia. Pick up Danny on your way. See if he can trace Isaac’s phone.”

“Excuse me, I can trace a cell phone perfectly well by myself,” Stiles replies, appalled that Scott would suggest otherwise. “I’m coming with.”

Scott ignores him, nodding to Cora and Derek who trot after him, because, _alpha_. Allison follows too, probably more because she wants to than because Scott says she should. Stiles waits until he hears the sound of Scott’s beat up old car coughing away up the road before turning to Lydia.

“I’ll take you to Scott’s place or Danny’s place or, hell, even home if that’s what you want, but I’m sure as shit not sitting around here waiting to find out they’ve all gone and got themselves killed.”

“You really think Allison would let that happen?” Lydia asks dryly.

“No, but I know Scott and Derek, and they’re both a pair of bone headed idiots who don’t listen, and it’d be pretty cool if they’d didn’t get themselves killed in the woods.”

“If I told you following them was a terrible idea and you shouldn’t go, would you even listen to me?”

“Probably not.”

“It is, for the record. And you shouldn’t.”

Stiles shrugs and hops off the counter. “I know, but I’m still going.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Lydia replies. “Infuriates me, but doesn’t surprise me. Don’t expect me to come looking for you if you get yourself maimed.”

Stiles salutes at that, because apparently he’s a huge fucking dork now and heads for front door, holding it open for Lydia before slamming it behind them and following her out of the building.

**~ ~ ~**

It doesn’t take a genius to find Scott’s P.O.S car parked up on the outskirts of the preserve. And it _definitely_ doesn’t take a genius to track the trail of destruction heading through the undergrowth to the edge of a small gully. He spots Scott, Derek and Cora immediately, all three of them wolfed out and snarling at something Stiles can’t see. Allison’s nowhere to be seen, but that doesn’t mean she’s not around. She could be three feet in front of him and he’d never realize; she’s just that good at staying hidden.

He crouches down as he peers over the edge of gully and finally spots what it is they’re all standing off against. It – because there’s no way of telling if it’s a man or a woman, reminds him of Peter and his hideous, twisted alpha form. As he watches, it lunges at Scott, knocks him to the floor as easily as if he were a rag doll. Because for all Scott is an alpha now, the _thing_ is twice his size. Which makes what Stiles does next one of the stupider things he’s ever done.

He staggers down the side of the gully, miraculously managing to keep his footing and launches himself at it, all thoughts of how it could rip him in half without breaking a sweat forgotten, watching in panic as Scott curls in on himself, the blood he’s coughing out onto the dry leaves visible even at this distance. The only thing he can think right now is _Scott’s hurt. Get to Scott. Help Scott;_ the words keep playing over and over in his head like a mantra.

He hits it at a run, landing several hard punches. Which, he thinks, the werewolf probably doesn’t even notice. It’s like punching a stinking, hairy brick wall. The thing swats him aside like he’s nothing more than a mosquito and he lands hard on his back a good seven or eight feet away, gasping madly as all the air is knocked out of his chest. He can’t really see much from his new vantage point, flat on his back in the leaves, but can hear the loud, chest vibrating snarls coming from – he’s not really sure who, someone of the wolfy persuasion, can hear the disgusting wet sounds of claws tearing through flesh and hopes against hope that it’s not one of his friends getting shredded. He’s still trying desperately to suck in huge gulps of air, trying to fight down the panic attack that’s threatening to happen when he feels someone’s hands digging into his armpits and turns his head to see Cora dragging him backwards and away from where Scott and Derek now have the other werewolf down on it’s knees.

“Breathe,” She instructs in a low hiss, losing her footing and falling backwards. She doesn’t even make an attempt to get up, just curls her hand around Stiles’ arm and starts leeching away the pain from his back. He’s been so focused on trying to get some oxygen into his lungs that he hasn’t even noticed how much his back and shoulders are hurting.

“Where’s Isaac?” He asks croakily as he pushes himself into a sitting position and peers around, watches as Cora copies the movement before nodding towards a pile of rocks towards the end of the gully.

“Back there I think. Cave.”

Stiles nods, trying, and failing, to look away from where Scott and Derek are still, by the looks of it, tearing chunks off the other werewolf. For a minute, it looks like they might have got the better of it, because it drops to the floor and roars in agony. It’s only down for a matter of seconds though before it lunges at Derek, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

“Get down!”

Stiles stares around wildly, trying to work out who’s shouting, only to hear the unmistakable sound of an arrow whistling through the air and ducks back against Cora. He looks up just in time to see the arrow hit the other werewolf right in the eye with a hideous thunking sound, sending it reeling and staggering backwards, it’s hands too clawed and animal-like to pull the arrow free.

It’s weird, the way everyone freezes, clearly looking around for Allison and Stiles wonders if he’s the only one who can’t see her. Even as the second arrow zips over head, he can’t work out where she’s hidden. This time the unpleasant sound of an arrow finding it’s mark is accompanied by a wet, gurgling sound as it rips through the werewolf’s throat. Stiles can’t seem look away as it chokes and coughs as blood starts to trickle from of the corners of it’s mouth.

This time, in what seems almost like slow motion, the other werewolf drops to the ground again and stays down, a steady stream of blood gushing from the ugly tear across it’s throat. The sight of it, staining the dried leaves and dirt scarlet, leaves Stiles feeling nauseated even from this distance but he can’t seem to stop himself from copying the others and struggling to his feet to get closer and make sure it’s dead. It has to be dead. There’s no way that much blood could come out of something and it not be dead. There’s an unpleasant metallic taste lingering in the back of his throat, which he can only assume is coming from the blood and turns away before the whole scene makes him vomit.

“I killed him.”

Stiles wheels around to see Allison slip-sliding down the side of the gully, a crossbow gripped tight in her hand. She looks pale and, Stiles notices as she passes him, is shaking violently.

“You had to,” Stiles hears Derek say as Allison makes a beeline for Scott. “It – he took Isaac. He was going to kill Scott, kill all of us. You had to.”

Allison really doesn’t seem to be listening to what Derek has to say right now though, seemingly far too pre-occupied with crying against Scott’s shoulder while he hugs her tightly. Stiles doesn’t know what to do with himself as Cora disappears from his side, heading towards the rocks at the end of the gully, slipping between them and vanishing from view. He keeps his gaze fixed on the large boulders because it’s easier than paying direct attention to what he can see out of the corner of his eye; Derek _kicking_ the other werewolf’s body, presumably to make sure it’s dead.

Which at least means he gets to see the somewhat absurd spectacle that is Cora manhandling Isaac out of the cave. He only becomes aware that he’s laughing in a slightly hysterical and altogether inappropriate manner when Scott glares at him over Allison’s shoulder. Which, _rude_. It’s hardly his fault he’s twitchy with adrenaline right now or that the image of five-foot-not-a-lot of Cora trying to drag all of Isaac across the forest floor is so ridiculous.

“I think – I think I should call my dad,” Allison mumbles when she finally lets go of Scott, her knuckles whitening as she grips her bow, like she’s afraid or even unable to let go of it. “I need to call my dad.”

“I can do that,” Scott tells her quietly as he crouches down to peer at Isaac, who’s muttering disjointedly to himself as he makes feeble attempts to sit up.

“I need him to - he needs to –” Allison continues, looking wildly from Scott and Isaac to the body of the other werewolf. “I _killed_ someone.”

“You had to,” Derek says again as he takes a step closer and rests his hand on Allison’s arm. “If you hadn’t –”

Before he can say anything else, Isaac’s up on his feet, shifted and snarling as he sends Scott sprawling in the dirt, all his attention fixed on Derek. Or more specifically on Derek’s hand which is still on Allison’s arm.

And then everything becomes a bit of a blur, because Stiles somehow finds himself up on his feet, speeding towards Derek on wobbly legs as Isaac starts to move too. He just manages to shove Derek backwards when an excruciating pain blooms hot across the back of his shoulder and he staggers forward a pace or two.

The last thing he remembers is the ground, or perhaps more importantly, a large rock speeding up to meet him as he falls.

**~ ~ ~**

Only then there’s shaking. Lots of shaking and someone gingerly slapping at his face as they call his name. He murmurs _something_ , something he hopes is coherent and slaps feebly at the hands gripping the front of his shirt. The shaking stops for a moment and Stiles relaxes a little, raising his hand and rubbing at the large goose egg on his temple. He’ll open his eyes in a minute, he thinks, as he prods a little harder at the lump. Except before he has the chance to, someone’s grabbing hold of his shirt again and shaking him, much harder than before. He’s definitely ashamed to admit that he knows straight away it’s Derek, just from the sound of the angry breathing above him.  

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“That I’d quite like to be unconscious again?” Stiles mutters, making a half hearted attempt at pulling Derek’s hands away from the front of his shirt. “Lemme go.”

“You could have been killed!” Derek snaps, using his grip on Stiles’ shirt to give him another shake. “Twice. What were you thinking?”

“Isaac was going to claw you up,” Stiles protests as he gives up trying to pry Derek’s fingers off him. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Let us handle it. I’ll heal – I’ll – God, you’re such a fucking idiot,” Derek barks, giving Stiles one last little shake before letting go of his shirt, leaving him to flop back against the forest floor again. He laughs wryly to himself, groaning when the movement aggravates the pain in his shoulder. It feels like Isaac sliced him all the way down to the bone and it _hurts_.

“You’re welcome, asshole,” He calls as he props himself up on his elbows to see Derek stalking over to where Allison and Scott are crouched down beside Isaac’s prone form. For someone with supposed accelerated healing powers, Isaac sure seems to spend a whole lot of time unconscious. He only just spots Derek flipping him off before he starts feeling light headed again and has to lay back down, closing his eyes because the leaves dancing overhead are making him dizzy.

"Don't fall asleep," Cora admonishes, nudging him in the hip with the toe of her boot.

"Not asleep."

"Get up."

Stiles makes a noise of protest because he's just fine here on the floor, thank you very much. Cora clearly isn't taking no for an answer though and next thing he knows, she's grabbing his hands and hauling him to his feet, looping her arm around his waist to steady him when he sways and wobbles dangerously.

Now he's up and on his feet, he can see that Scott and Derek have managed to get Isaac up too, although he looks in a bad way, his head lolling about as he lapses in and out of consciousness. If he hadn’t just tried to maim Stiles horribly, he might be a little bit interested in exactly how Isaac has ended up in that state. But he did and Stiles isn’t interested.

"We should take him to your place," Scott tells Derek, glancing at him over the top of Isaac's head. "It'll be safer there if he comes round and loses it again."

Derek nods before looking over at Stiles and Cora. "You can drive his Jeep back," he adds, looking directly at Cora.

"Excuse me, _he_ can drive his own Jeep back just fine," Stiles grouses as he tries to shove Cora away in a bid to prove how fine he is. Which leaves him swaying again, and feeling a little sick, if he's honest, as his shirt catches on the open wounds on his shoulder.

Derek promptly lets go of Isaac and storms across to where Stiles and Cora are standing, getting all up in Stiles personal space and shoving his hand into the front pocket of his khakis without so much as hello, scowling at him as he yanks out his car keys and thrusts them without looking in Cora's direction.

"Why are you even here Stiles?"

Stiles shrugs, still feeling slightly shell shocked by how up close and personal Derek's hand had nearly been with his dick.

"You were supposed to stay with Lydia and Danny, not follow us into the woods," Derek continues, prodding Stiles in the chest to emphasize his point. Which, OK, ouch. "You could have been killed."

"So could you!" Stiles yells back, slapping Derek's hand away as he feels his temper rising. "Any of you could. If I hadn't distracted him, he might have killed Scott! And Isaac might have killed you. You're supposed to say thank you when someone saves your life."

"Thank you Stiles," Derek snaps sarcastically. "Thank you for coming to _save_ us and nearly getting yourself killed. Twice. Thank you for making that whole situation far more dangerous than it needed to be. Thank you for making me – making everyone worry about you and your damn safety _again_."

With that, he turns on his heel and stalks away, grabbing hold of his half of Isaac again and gesturing to Scott for them to start walking him to the far end of the gully. Allison trails after them, flashing Stiles a worried smile as they go, leaving him alone with Cora.

"You know why he's mad, right?" She asks quietly as she spins his keys around her pointer finger.

Stiles just shrugs, letting her wrap her arm around his waist again to steady him as they start on the long walk back to his Jeep.

**\- - -**

Watching Cora drive his car is quite possibly the worst thing he's ever seen since his life descended into some kind of B movie joke. She keeps grinding the gears and he's convinced she actually has no idea how to drive stick. It's painful.

"Careful!" He yelps for what feels like the hundredth time as she tries, and fails, to get into third gear.

"It's not me, it's this piece of shit," Cora huffs in reply, finally finding the right gear as she presses down on the accelerator, making the Jeep lurch forward dramatically. "Get a real car."

"Eat me."

"Tool."

"Bitch."

Cora leans over and punches him in the thigh for that, smirking when he squawks involuntarily.

"He still likes you, you know."

"What?"

"Derek. He still likes you."

"No, he really doesn't," Stiles tells her. "Trust me on that."

"Trust _me_ , he does."

"Why are you even telling me this?" Stiles asks angrily. "He's made it perfectly clear he doesn't want anything to do with me. He _ran away_ when I kissed him. So trust me when I say he doesn't like me."

"That's what you think," Cora replies. "But you're wrong. He -"

"Stop it," Stiles butts in. "Please? This whole fucked up situation is hard enough without you making out like he might actually give two shits about me. And even if he did like me, why the hell would he run away from me?"

"Because he's Derek?" Cora suggests. "You really think after everything that he knows how to do normal relationships?”

Stiles shrugs. He doesn’t really want to think about all the reasons why Derek doesn’t want anything to do with him. He’s spent more than enough time doing that over the last few weeks, mostly when he’s lying awake at night trying to work out where things went wrong. Which inevitably leads to him trying to come up with elaborate plans on how to go about fixing things. It’s exhausting.

“All I’m saying,” Cora continues as she takes a corner too sharply for Stiles’ liking, “is that maybe you shouldn’t just give up on him.”

“He’s the one that gave up,” Stiles replies as he leans forward and snaps on the radio, turning it up loud enough that Cora can’t talk to him anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://www.tumblr.com/the-misfortune-teller), yo


End file.
